The Crucifixion [The Light of The World]
They sunk a post into the ground
Where their leaders bade them stop;
It was a man’s height, and they spiked
A crosspiece to the top.
They bound it well with thongs of hide,
To make it firm and good;
Then roughly, with His back to this,
Their enemy they stood.
They held His hands upon the piece,
And they spiked them to the wood.
They mocked Him then—the while He rocked
In agony His head—
With things that He had never done,
And He had never said—
With that which He had never been—
And in His face they spat.
They placed a plank beside the post,
And they spiked His feet to that.
They pelted Him, but not with stones,
Lest He should die too soon;
They stayed to mock His agony
All through the blazing noon.
They did not pelt with stones, lest they
Might kill Him unaware,
But with foul things that lay about
The filthy hovels there.
And this was how they murdered Him
They killed Him in his youth
Because He had been good to men,
Because He told the truth,
Because they did not understand
The things He felt and knew:
He only said the world-old words,
“They know not what they do.”
The flaunting harlots taunted Him;
He only bowed His head,
And prayed for public women then,
While “Save Thyself!” they said.
They went with soldiers to the camp,
And the rest went by-and-bye,
When they were weary of the sport—
And they left Him there to die.
He lingered yet, for He was strong,
But He shut His blighted eyes,
And shuddered oft, for round Him swarmed
The loathsome desert flies.
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poem by Henry Lawson
Added by Poetry Lover
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